


hand in unloveable hand

by alamorn



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hand Jobs, Not Canon Compliant, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-27 14:01:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20408938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alamorn/pseuds/alamorn
Summary: Daryl decides to use his guard shift as some alone time and finds himself less than alone.





	hand in unloveable hand

**Author's Note:**

> No, I don't care about canon.
> 
> The fort they're in is modeled on Old Fort Niagara, because that's the fort I've been in recently enough to remember anything about. Are they in New York? It doesn't matter. Have fun. Enjoy the hand job.

The best thing about the end of the world was the night skies. Suddenly, there was no light pollution and the Milky Way shimmered and snaked its way across the breadth of the sky. The moon got bright enough to cast shadows. Sometimes, Daryl climbed as high as he could, just so he could be closer to the sky.

The fort they'd ended up, left over from some pre-industrial war, had a guard tower that rose high above the walls. It wasn't as private as the tower in the prison, since it had housing in it, and there was always someone there, but he could pull himself up onto the roof late at night, when it was either his watch, or the watch of someone who wouldn't bug him.

They didn't really need a watch -- the walls were stone a couple feet thick, thirty feet high, and two sides were cliffs overlooking the lake -- but no one who'd made it this far had gotten here by being careless. They had enough people to run a constant watch, so they did.

Daryl had the top of the tower to himself for the next four hours, the most privacy a man could get in the fort, whose main flaw as a residence, in Daryl's opinion, was the goddamn barracks. He'd chosen to stay permanently in the guard tower over the barracks, since he couldn't think of anything more likely to put him on the run again than sleeping in a room with fifty to two hundred other people and their snoring and flatulence. The guard tower, with four, was more manageable.

He planned to use his alone time well, unbuttoning his pants and drawing out his dick. It wasn't hard yet, so he just cupped it there, considering. He had a stable of fantasies he cycled through, but they'd been getting worn lately.

"Oh."

Daryl didn't even try to identify the voice as he hurried to tuck himself away. "The fuck're you doing, sneaking up on a man like that?" he snapped, yanking his zipper up.

When he looked up, Beth was staring at him over the edge of the roof, eyes wide and mouth slightly open. Her teeth shone in the glitter of the stars. She licked her lips and, traitorously, his prick started to harden. "I thought you heard me."

"You think I'd have my dick out, I knew you were coming up?" he bit out. "Was looking forward to some privacy."

"It's nothing I haven't seen before?" she offered, pulling herself up to sit next to him on the roof. "You know showers are co-ed."

"Haven't seen _my_ dick before," he said, fidgeting where he sat. He refused to look at her, but she didn't seem to get the hint, settling in close enough that he could feel the warmth of her in the cool late summer night.

"I didn't see if very well this time," she said, as if that made it better. "And, I mean...I don't mind."

"The hell's that supposed to mean?" he said, though he had a sinking feeling he knew. Beth featured in too many of his fantasies. 

"It means... you can finish what you were doing. If you want. I'll keep an eye out."

"You want to sit next to me while I jerk one out?" He snorted. "You're dirty, Greene."

In the silvery light of the half-moon, he couldn't tell if she blushed, but she didn't retreat. "I'm not the one with my dick out on the roof of the guard tower," she said.

"You got a dick?" he said and she snorted.

She went quiet for a while and he was about to hope she'd drop it when she said. "Do it. I want you to."

"Why?" he snarled. "So you can laugh with your friends about what a desperate dirty fucker I am?"

"You know me better than that," she said like he'd disappointed her.

And that was true. He did know her better. Beth never laughed at him. But this was... he licked his lips. "Why?" he asked again, quieter.

She shrugged. "I dunno. I don't like thinking there's things you don't share with me."

There was plenty he didn't share with her, like how he sometimes thought about her putting her fingers in his mouth and holding them there while he gagged and slobbered, which seemed somehow dirtier than if he thought about fucking her. He didn't. Think about fucking her, that was. He couldn't. He'd think about her smile, and how soft her skin was, how her legs moved when she was running, like she'd never get tired. He'd think about her leaning over him, eyes bright and focused just on him, her hair falling over him, tickling.

Thinking about fucking her would be like looking at the sun. So having her tell him to jack off while she sat next to him was like... he didn't have that kind of vocabulary. He didn't know what it was like, because he'd never had anything like it happen to him.

"Go on," she said again. "Daryl, go on."

It was the way she said his name that made him do it in the end. The whine to it. She wasn't used to him telling her no, or at least, she was used to ignoring it. He wasn't sure what her next step would be if he ignored this command, but he was pretty sure it would somehow be even more uncomfortable than pulling out his dick on his own.

Traitorously, he was half hard. He might have his issues, but his prick seemed to know exactly what it wanted. She licked her lips, staring, and the blood roared in his ears. He started to move his hand, slowly, trying to get himself fully hard. The sooner this was over -- well. The sooner it was over, and he could pretend it hadn't happened.

"What do you think of?" she asked, hooking her chin on his left shoulder. "When you're doing this, what do you think of?"

"Beth," he bit out, "I need you to shut up." 

She mimed drawing a zipper across her lips, but kept her chin on his shoulder, watching intently. Her breath puffed against his throat, and he thought about offering it to her. Giving her his soft belly, trusting her not to rip it open.

He didn't realize she was reaching for his dick until her hand was almost there. "Christ, girl," he hissed, shoving her away. "This isn't some teeny-bopper game of 'show me yours,' you gotta back the fuck off."

She bit her lip. He stared too intently at the glint of her teeth. "Just -- can you trust me, for a minute?"

"You touch my dick, this is turning into something else fast," he warned her. He hoped she thought he meant he'd fuck her if she did. That's what it should have meant, if he was any sort of man. Probably what would actually happen is that he would cry, and she'd already seen him cry too many times.

"I won't," she promised, then scrambled to her hands and knees. She crawled around behind him, sat with her legs on the outside of his and plastered herself across his back, arms tights around his chest, chin on his shoulder once more. "Alright," she said. "Keep going."

He sighed heavily through his nose, like a beautiful girl begged him to jack off for her every day. Slowly, he did what she said. The longer her hands stayed still, the more comfortable he was. Pressed up against him like she was, he could hear her breath get ragged, could feel the pounding of her heart.

At least he wasn't the only one undone by this.

He stared at his dick, the swollen head disappearing in his hand over and over, trying not to think if the girl behind him was getting wet, if he'd be able to smell her when she got up, and then she sighed, "Oh, Daryl, you're so beautiful."

He froze and she ran a hand down his arm, lingering over the bunched muscle of his bicep. "You _are_," she said. "I know you're gonna get your hackles up and snap at me, but I'm telling the truth, Daryl Dixon. You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

His mouth was dry. He didn't know what to do. Her hand made it down his arm to settle over his and she gripped over his hand, getting him started again. He stared at her pale, long-fingered hand surrounding his cock and he didn't... he didn't know how she could call _him_ beautiful, when she was sitting right there, the prettiest thing under the stars.

"Daryl," she whispered into his neck. "Daryl, can I kiss you?"

His mouth opened and closed, but he couldn't seem to say anything, to make the slightest of noises. She didn't do anything, didn't push, or ask again, just ran her nose along the cords of his neck, scenting him. She hummed happily, the vibration moving into his own throat and pushing out the words he wasn't able to get out by himself. "Yes," he croaked, and she nosed her way up past his jaw until she was staring him in the eyes, and then her lips were on his, so soft they were barely there, just a bare brush of her lips on his.

When she pulled away, he chased, dick forgotten, twisting to try and catch her.

"Turn back around," she said, her voice low and intimate. "This is about you."

Reluctantly, he turned around and started his hand moving again. Pre-come was pouring out of him, more than ever had before. And then her lips fastened on the pulse point below his jaw, just a nick of teeth and a sweet suction, the warm work of her tongue.

"Daryl," she said, flattening her hand on his stomach, the muscles of his abdomen jumping from arousal, from her proximity, and what even was the difference? "Daryl, you're doing so good."

When he came, it was a shock. He nearly always had to work his dick halfway to raw before he got anywhere, but with Beth draped over him, surrounding him, giving him no route for retreat, his orgasm snuck up on him, fast and hard, spurt after spurt of come roping itself over their clasped hands. He lolled back into her with the force of it and she cooed encouragement until he was panting and rung out. And then she freed her hand from where their fingers had interlaced to jerk him and brought her fingers to her face.

He watched sidelong as she considered the sticky mess on her hand. He was ready for her face to twist in disgust, for her to wipe her hand on him or the roof, to call him a dirty old man, tell him she never wanted to see him again. He wasn't ready for her to tentatively stick out her tongue and lick the come from her fingers.

If he'd been a teenager, that alone would have gotten him hard again. "Beth," he said, and it sounded inhuman, it sounded like the monster he was, watching this sweet girl lick his come from her hand.

"It tastes different than I thought it would," she told him and he groaned, long and pained. She was going to kill him.

She used that hand to turn his head to face her and pushed her thumb into his mouth. He laved it, sucked on it, tried to find the taste of himself on it, let her press the pad of her thumb on his teeth until his mouth fell open. And then she kissed him, hard and fierce. "Don't you run from me, Daryl Dixon," she told him while he stared breathlessly at her. "Don't you dare."

The next day, he could have convinced himself it was all a dirty dream if not for the bruise on his pulse point.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Soon You’ll Run With Better Men](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20441846) by [ronsparkyspeirs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ronsparkyspeirs/pseuds/ronsparkyspeirs)


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